


When Dating...

by tulipwriter



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Dating, M/M, Mostly Sweet and Innocent, No Drama Only Happiness, Ok Sometimes There's Drama, Plotless Musings, Romance, Short Stories, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tulipwriter/pseuds/tulipwriter
Summary: Pete saw dating as the potential end to loneliness, self loathing, and being under the delivery minimum. Turns out he had a lot to learn.A collection of dating stories.
Relationships: Chasten Buttigieg/Pete Buttigieg
Comments: 65
Kudos: 98





	1. Not Casual

When The Guy You’re Dating Becomes Your Boyfriend…

The date was winding down, although both of them kept coming up with excuses to linger. But nothing escapes the sand sliding down the hourglass, and Pete did not miss the way Chasten kept looking at his watch.

“I had a great time tonight,” Pete said. Again. He was pretty sure his inexperience, and slight insecurity over it, was showing.

“Me too,” Chasten affirmed. Again. “Dinner and a movie is a classic.”

They were inching closer to Pete’s house on their slow (more like slooow) evening stroll. Once they got to his sidewalk, he feared he was out of reasons to keep Chasten any longer. He had a two hour drive home. Pete didn’t want to be selfish. Fine. He didn’t _want_ to want to be selfish.

Pete turned to Chasten and swept his hair to the side. He leaned in for a kiss. Just a peck. The last thing he needed was to open tomorrow’s _Tribune_ and find out he’d been scaring South Bend’s children. Chasten trembled a bit. He seemed nervous.

“Could we go inside? To talk?”

Oh. When Pete started dating, in the distant past of two weeks ago, he tried to prepare for the moment when a date would hint at wanting to come inside his house. Or he would ask a date to come inside. But even in his own head it was always kind of awkward. He wasn’t dumb. Sex was not an insignificant part of dating. In fact, telling people over the past couple of months he was coming out in order to start dating had felt a little like declaring himself Open For Business. He might as well have been shouting from the rafters: “I’m thirty-three and I’d like to start having sex. Is everyone cool with that?”

But he’d expected this to be more of a fourth of fifth date existential crisis. Still, he liked Chasten, and from how anxious he looked perhaps he was reading the whole situation wrong.

“Sure.”

Pete didn’t offer up a whole house tour, figuring it sent the wrong message, but he did show off some of his home projects and generally made Chasten aware of the location of useful rooms like the powder room. He started up a pot of coffee, knowing enough to know this was an important pretense to keep up when having a date come home with you. Following the rules gave him comfort.

They settled onto the couch, both holding mugs but not really drinking. Because why would they? It was eleven o’clock at night.

“I really like you.” Chasten broke the silence. “You’re cute and sweet and possibly the smartest person I’ve ever met. We’ve had two dates, and they’ve both been amazing.”

Wow, Pete was getting dumped in record time. He wondered if he should write a Medium article about this experience. “How to Get Gay Dumped Before the Ink on Your Coming Out Story is Dry.”

“But?” Pete helped him along. If they could wrap this up in the next ten minutes, he would have time to drown his sorrows in an episode of _Game of Thrones._

Chasten drew in a breath. “I’m not looking for something casual. I’m really not looking for something long-distance casual.”

Pete saw his opening. He liked Chasten. A lot. He wasn’t going to force him into dating against his will, but if there was a chance he could be persuaded… “I’m not looking for casual, either.”

Chasten looked down at his pants. Pete got a bit flushed before he realized Chasten was staring at his pocket. “Your phone,” he said. “I heard it ping at dinner. My phone makes the same noise when I’m talking to guys on that dating app.”

Well, Pete did say he wanted to learn how to date. And learning he was. Tonight’s lesson: _turn off your dating apps when you’re out with someone you really like, you idiot motherfucker_.

“Oh, Chasten, I…” He was pretty sure his mouth was flapping like a fish.

Chasten offered him a reassuring smile and a pat on the arm. “Relax. I’m not judging. I get that you’re new at this. It makes total sense that you’d want to test the field and date a ton of guys. It’s simply not where I am right now. I’m trying this new thing where I’m honest about what I want. It sucks that it means we might be in different places, but I don’t want to waste my time or yours. We could stay in touch. I could be your gay mentor of sorts. When I came out, I wished I had a friend I could ask questions or just talk to, someone who understood.”

“Can I ask a question now?”

Chasten quirked an eyebrow. “I suppose.”

Pete inched closer to him on the couch until their knees were touching. “I have been on two spectacular dates with this adorable, funny guy and he wants to be not-causal but I guess I’m struggling to understand exactly what that means?”

“Being exclusive, primarily. No more dating apps, cancel the other guys. Emotional investment, showing me off to your friends, slumber parties. That kind of thing.”

“I can do that.”

Chasten appeared a bit skeptical. “You understand you would be committing to be my boyfriend? Like if we’re at the movies and a super hot guy comes up to you and asks you out, you will have to point at me and say ‘See the guy putting a fifth pump of butter of his popcorn? That’s Chasten, my boyfriend.’”

“Sounds good.”

It did. An automatic date on weekends. Someone to chat up at the end of a long day. A plus one to city functions. The potential end to loneliness, self loathing, and being under the delivery minimum.

“You’re sure?”

Pete got up and wandered over to his coat closet, rooting around the top shelf until he found what he wanted. He handed the baseball to Chasten.

“That’s from our first date. I had them save the game ball. Being the mayor does come with a few perks. There are no other guys, Chasten.” Well, there had been one, a disastrous date the weekend before he’d met up with Chasten, but Pete was scrubbing both the memory of it and the visual of body glitter from his brain. “I didn’t remove my dating profiles, because I didn’t _know_. I suspected, but I’m not sure how these things work.”

Chasten smiled. “You’re good. I get how you’re a politician.”

“But I’m also being genuine. I want to take this step, and I want to take it with you. Only you. Be my boyfriend?”

His new boyfriend answered with a kiss.


	2. JFK

When Your Boyfriend Dresses Up Like Your Political Hero…

“I’m noticing you have quite a bit of JFK memorabilia,” Chasten said one afternoon. 

Chasten chewed on the capped edge of a highlighter, a binder propped in his lap. Pete sat across from him, looking through data reports. Ever since Chasten started spending most weekends in South Bend, it had become increasingly difficult for both of them to keep up with work. In an attempt to remedy this situation, they blocked off two hours to hunker down and be responsible adults. They had only spent one hour of it making out instead. Progress.

“What do you mean?”

Pete did own a couple of odds and ends commemorating the 35th president. No more than anyone else, really.

“You’re sitting underneath a giant poster of his face right now. That would be one example. The battered copy of _Profiles in Courage_ you keep by the bed would be a second. Then there’s this.” He reached down and pulled a volume out of his messenger bag. “A spare copy of the same book, which you’ve assigned me to read.”

“I don’t see a bookmark in that,” Pete accused.

“For the last time. Our relationship is not a book club, and you cannot give me homework.”

“I typed out a list of possible discussion topics.” Pete tried not to sound disappointed.

Chasten leaned back in his chair. “Out of curiosity, how old were you when this fascination with JFK began?”

“I guess around ten or eleven.”

That made Chasten grin. “You don’t see it, do you? Peter, your entire idolization of this man is born out of a massive crush you had as a kid.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to boil down my admiration of Kennedy’s life and politics down to a simple _crush_.” He said the word crush as if it were distasteful to him.

“Please.” Chasten made a dismissive scoffing noise. “You developed the hots for Nantucket Ken, and your young, fragile gay brain couldn’t process the attraction. I’m not doubting your ideological commitment, but history is full of impressive legislative role models you could have chosen. Impressive, but maybe not as good looking.”

Pete did not enjoy this conversation one bit. 

“I would like to point out that I have not once tried to ruin _Harry Potter_ for you by pointing out how upset you get when that weasel dies.”

“It’s _Weasley_ and, I assure you, debating the physical and romantic merits of various characters would definitely would not ruin it for me. However, if this line of discussion is bothering you, consider it dropped.”

“Thank you.”

About ten seconds passed. 

“I guess this makes me Jackie.”

“No,” he said sternly, “You are not Jackie. How does that even fit into this scenario?”

Chasten appeared to consider this. “You’re right. I’m Marilyn. This explains so much.”

Pete threw down his pen.

*****

Pete didn’t know what to expect when Chasten teased him with the promise of a “big surprise.” He thought their relationship was going well, but it was new, and he didn’t feel he knew Chasten well enough to speculate. He both hoped and feared it involved plastic wrap.

Instead, Chasten came down the stairs fully dressed in a suit slightly too large for him and polished leather loafers. He’d parted his hair on the side and coiffed it in a style that must have required ozone-hole levels of hairspray.

“What are you wearing? Are you… did you dress up as JFK?”

“My fellow Americans, ask what you can do for your country, not what your country can do for you,” Chasten attempted to orate.

“Not really the quote, but that’s okay. What’s with your voice?”

Chasten pulled himself out of character. “It’s a Boston accent. Am I not doing it correctly?”

“No.”

“Then what do I sound like?”

“Like someone from Tallahassee got clubbed over the head.”

Chasten gave the act a second go. “We shall never fear negotiations, and we shall never negotiate our fear.”

Pete buried his head in his hands. “That’s not how it goes. You’re getting the words all mixed up.”

“The path chosen for us right now is full of hap hazards...”

“Please stop. You’re ruining the Cuban Missile Crisis for me.”

Chasten actually looked a bit hurt, and Pete realized, teasing aside, that he had put effort into this bit. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and kissed his forehead. It tasted like Aqua Net.

“He isn’t what I want. You understand that, right? The blue-blooded pedigree, the political ambitions, the elite education, the yacht. None of that is what I’m looking for in a partner. Yes, maybe, I did have a crush on JFK when I was a kid, but I’ve grown up a bit since then.”

“You went to Harvard and were a Rhodes Scholar. You became a mayor before you turned thirty. I don’t see how I stack up.”

Pete hugged Chasten tighter. “That’s my resume, sure, and it’ll come in handy if I need to apply for a job at Walmart one day. But those are not the things that sustain a relationship. I’m with you because you’re empathetic, faithful, caring, and generous. Among other great qualities. Jack has nothing on you.”

Chasten smiled. “Did you know _Profiles in Courage_ was probably written by one of his aides?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’ve won the contest. Why do you persist?”

“I should take a shower and wash off some of this patriarchal dynasty.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Pete kissed his nose. “Besides, if one of us is ever going to seductively quote Kennedy, it’s going to be me.”


	3. Wrapping Lesson

When You Discover Your New Favorite Christmas Song…

_Bells will be ringing this sad sad news_  
_Oh what a christmas to have the blues  
My baby's gone..._

“This song is depressing me,” Pete said.

Chasten grabbed his hips from behind and swayed them a little in rhythm with the music and leaned over to kiss the side of his neck. The sensation of having Chasten’s body pressed up against his sent an eager thrill up his spine. 

“It’s one of my favorites. Give it a chance.”

“They’re all your favorites.” 

Pete smiled. He loved Chasten’s child-like wonder and enthusiasm over the holiday. Something he had lost a long time ago, but was starting to recapture.

“What I hear you saying is that you demand more Mariah Carey.”

Chasten fiddled with the controls and the beginning notes of _All I Want for Christmas is You_ wafted into the room.

“All I want for Christmas is tape that doesn’t stick to itself.” He threw down the latest wad of it he’d made in frustration. A whole morning lost to paper, sticky film and plastic bows. What masochist even invented this tradition?

Chasten chuckled. “I offered to help.”

“You had your own gifts to wrap.” 

A task that took him about five minutes, and the results would have made Martha Stewart proud. The points on the sides of his boxes met perfectly in the middle. What kind of sorcery was that?

Chasten poured himself a tumbler of eggnog and plopped down into a chair. Watching and waiting. Pete held out as long as he could. It was a talking soccer ball that broke him. The devilish thing would not stop making noise as he tried to wrap the illogically hexagonal box it came in. So this is what surrender felt like.

“Help?” He made his very best puppy dog eyes.

“If you put away the face. You’re seriously making me want to run to the shelter and get six golden retrievers.”

“I’m not ready for that right now. Maybe in the spring after you move in.” 

Pete said this without thinking, his focus dedicated to searching for the paper cut he could feel but somehow couldn’t see. When he finally processed what he’d said, he cursed his entire existence. It had been less than four months. He was supposed to be keeping it cool. He was _not_ supposed to be leaking out his inner thoughts about Chasten moving in, adopting a dog or two, and going with him on Costco runs. He wasn’t even ready for any of these things. It was the fantasy of them that appealed to him, particularly on the days they were apart and Pete missed him to the point of distraction. Separating the fantasy from the reality in a relationship was still one of those fun new dating skills he was learning.

And if it was too soon to be having these thoughts, then it was definitely red-flag too soon to be talking about them. What if Chasten thought he was moving too fast? What if it drove him away? Pete stared at him, helpless, blinking out S.O.S and starting to sweat a little, desperate for a reprieve.

Being the compassionate boyfriend that he was, Chasten granted him his stay of execution and side stepped the topic. “What do you have left to wrap?”

Pete pointed to a few boxes across the room. He thought he heard them snicker at him. Chasten grabbed one of the squarish ones, a roll of paper and a matching bow.

“Turn around.”

Pete felt the heat rising to his cheeks as his mind traveled to the last time Chasten told him to _turn around_. If Chasten had any inkling of the gutter his boyfriend’s thoughts had drained into, he gave no indication.

He crept up behind Pete and hugged him from behind, extending an arm to cover his. Their hands in unison reached for the scissors.

“Here, touch them,” Chasten said softly.

“Roll this out” was his next instruction. Hands still linked together, they smoothed out the wrapping paper.

“Be careful not to rip it,” Chasten whispered into his ear.

He moved Pete in the direction of the tape dispenser. Pete could feel the breath on the back of his neck and, cliched as it was, his knees went a bit weak. “Pull this. But gently.”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

Chasten kissed Pete’s cheek. “I absolutely am. Is it working?”

Their hands intertwined, Pete invited him to confirm that it was, in fact, working and squeezed when he heard the involuntary whine that came from the back of Chasten's throat. He knew that whine. He found that more exhilarating than anything else: the idea that he knew this man in a way no one else did. It delighted the primitive and territorial piece of him he never realized before existed.

“The rest of the wrapping can wait for tomorrow,” he helpfully suggested.

In the background he heard the music loop back around to Charles Brown.

_Please come home for Christmas…_

Maybe he'd been wrong about this song.


	4. First Fight

When A Punch To The Heart Blindsides You…

It started with a wine glass. 

Chasten was standing at the kitchen island, pouring himself a glass of red, when he turned around to put the bottle in the refrigerator and knocked the glass onto the floor with his elbow. It shattered. Maroon liquid fanned out over the floor. A pile of glass shards laid at Chasten’s feet.

“Don’t move,” Pete warned. He said it softly and slowly as if the mess on the floor were an animal that might pounce. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and a broom and began by sopping up the spilled wine.

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Chasten said. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be still.”

But the anxiety bubbling up in Chasten wouldn’t allow that, and he moved his feet. Maybe only a fraction of an inch, but Pete fell into a complete panic at the thought of him getting hurt, of the shards piercing the skin he loved and causing pain.

“I said not to move,” he snapped. Growled, practically. “You’re so reckless sometimes.”

He realized later how Chasten would interpret that. How it could seem he was upset over the broken glass and the mess when he wasn’t. How that could have fed into the doubts and insecurities he was struggling with at that moment, confirming his deepest fear that Pete would eventually transform into one of his priors. How it could result in an argument that would bubble over until it concluded with Chasten leaving his house and not answering his phone for more than twelve hours.

It started before the wine glass.

Chasten arrived at his house later than planned and in an unusually quiet mood. But Pete didn’t notice. There was flooding in the north quadrant of the city due to heavy rains. He came home from the office because he promised Chasten he would, and because his staff all but shoved him out the door, but his ear was glued to his phone. He was home in body but not mind. He kissed Chasten on the cheek when he arrived. He didn’t notice his boyfriend's flinch. 

“I’m all yours,” Pete said finally, plopping down on the couch beside Chasten. The worst of the flooding was over and his team was helping with the handful of homeowners affected by it.

“Well, that’s fantastic,” Chasten said in an eerily cheery voice. He made a dramatic show of looking at his watch. “Because it’s only eleven thirty. Should we go out for dinner?”

Christ. Chasten was right. It was almost midnight. The hours had gotten away from him. He’d completely forgotten about dinner. “I’m sorry, Chasten. I was in the zone, and I wasn’t thinking…”

Chasten waved him off. “Forget about it. You were just being you.”

Pete did not like the way Chasten said that.

“I’ll make it up to you. All weekend, we’ll do whatever you want.”

“Right now, I could go for some wine and then bed. I’m exhausted. There was an accident on the turnpike. It took me four hours to get here.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” He didn’t get notice about it from his staff, which meant the gridlock must have been close to Chicago. And to think Chasten sat through that, probably resisting the temptation to turn around, all to be ignored for hours once he got here. Pete owed him big time.

“No. Why would you?” Chasten’s voice carried a tinge of bitterness.

The warning bells were sounding off in Pete’s head. It was not news to him that Chasten did most of the heavy lifting when it came to the long distance portion of their relationship. To be fair, Pete had started with the intention of being more equitable. Then his reelection and job got in the way, and their relationship naturally tipped in the direction of South Bend. And if he was being honest, he didn’t exactly relish the idea of a weekend spent in Chasten’s student apartment, when they could be relaxing at home instead. A home he was increasingly thinking of as _theirs_.

He didn’t want to have this fight. Chasten would say he was tired of driving out to South Bend all the time. Pete would bring up the idea of him moving in, which would be met with Chasten countering that then he would have to drive to _Chicago_ all the time, which didn’t solve the problem for him in the least. What Chasten wanted was Pete to do the traveling occasionally, and there was no rational argument against it. Pete was in the wrong here, but he didn’t want to be forced to admit it.

“Wine it is,” Pete said, thinking he had bypassed the landmine. “The mayor of one of our sister cities sent me a bottle of Merlot as a gift. I hope you’re in the mood for red.”

He was about to learn that sometimes fights weren’t about issues as much as they were about people. The fight was preordained the second Chasten walked through his door that night. He saw that now.

He didn’t remember much of what happened after he lost his temper over Chasten moving his feet. Somehow the wine got cleaned up and the glass bits safely disposed. They began to lob intermittent barbs at each other, using sarcastic language meant to dig in deep. Both men had a gift with words, and they weaponized it until it became clear neither of them would win.

They were upstairs, going through the motions of preparing for bed, when Chasten went in for the kill.

Pete told Chasten he loved him. He no longer remembered what prompted him to say this, only that he had said it in earnest. There was a pause, and then Chasten’s response blindsided him.

“Do you love me, though? Or do you only think you do?”

“How can you ask me that?” 

Wasn’t it obvious? Hadn’t it been obvious for the better part of a year?

“Sometimes people fool themselves into believing they found the very thing they most wanted. You wanted to fall in love. You wanted it more than anything. You’re not a man accustomed to failure.”

Pete swallowed. “You think I tricked myself into thinking I’m in love with you? Out of desperation?”

Chasten shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me. What is your problem tonight?”

“My problem is my boyfriend begs me to drive out to his house so we can spend the weekend together, and then he fails to notice I’m hours late, ignores me, forgets to feed me, loses his patience with me and calls me stupid.”

Who was this person Chasten described? Because it couldn’t possibly be him.

“You need to take some responsibility. If you’re upset, say something. Don’t expect me to read your mind.”

“You need a reminder that it’s rude spend four hours on the phone after I get here? It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s been nine months. At the end of a long week apart, we should be tearing each other’s clothes off, not fighting about work and logistics. Maybe this isn’t the great love we thought it was.”

It slipped out before he could stop it. “What do you know about love? When is the last time you had a relationship make it to nine months with any of those jerks you used to date?”

“You’re right, Peter,” Chasten said. “I date jerks.”

Those were the last words Chasten said to him before leaving.


	5. Closet Cleanout

When Your Boyfriend Cleans Out Your Closet…

“The sauce splattered all over my shirt. Can I borrow one of yours?”

It seemed like an innocent enough request. Chasten had just finished cooking them dinner. It was a simple meal of spaghetti and meatballs, but Pete was as enchanted as if his boyfriend had put boeuf bourguignon in front of him. No one, save his mother, and it was _not_ the same, had ever made him dinner before. He was on such a high he probably would have given Chasten a lung if he’d asked. What was a shirt in comparison?

“Sure. Go upstairs and pick something out of my closet. I’ll clean up.”

His kissed his boyfriend and set him on his way, happily filling the sink with suds. He didn’t realize until he was finished that Chasten never came back downstairs.

He discovered him making piles of clothing on his bed, still wearing his own soiled button down.

“Good, you’re here. I need your help,” Chasten said, chipper as ever.

“What are you doing?” He went over to what used to be his closet. “There’s nothing left in here.”

“I know it seems a bit extreme, but I promise you’ll soon see this exercise was entirely necessary.”

Pete was starting to doubt that. “I will?”

Chasten nodded. “I have divided your clothing into three piles. This first grouping is work clothing. There’s great room for improvement here, but you do need professional outfits and most of this can be replaced as things wear out and the seasons change.”

He paused, clearly awaiting Pete to express his gratitude in not being forced to go to work naked. Pete stared at him agape. 

“This second pile is stuff you can’t wear around me, but still has a utilitarian purpose. All of this is fine for sleeping in, doing relief work, working on vehicles that shoot out oil, or cutting up for craft projects.”

Pete examined the heap of his clothing. “I wore this shirt when we went to the park yesterday.”

“Yes." Chasten sighed and then frowned. "Don’t worry. We’re going to fix this problem together. 

Pete didn't see a problem to fix.

“This third group is the clothing no one should ever wear under any circumstances. I call this the burn pile.”

It was by far the biggest pile. Pete was incredulous. 

“We’re not burning my clothing.”

“Relax. It was a figure of speech. We can take it all to Goodwill. What size belt to you wear?”

“I already own a belt. It’s perfectly fine.”

“You have only one belt?” Chasten appeared positively scandalized. “What happens when you switch from a cool color pallet to a warm one?”

Pete really didn’t understand what his boyfriend had said. “It’s reversible?” He hoped that was the right answer.

“I need to sit down.” Chasten collapsed onto the bed and Pete joined him. Chasten looked over at him. “You’re not offended are you? I know I can come on a little strong.”

Pete offered a reassuring smile. “I’ve waited a long time to have a boyfriend who cared enough to dress me. I’m not blind. I'm aware I don’t have great fashion sense. Most things domestic escape me, and it’s reassuring to think I’ve found someone who can help guide me in the areas I struggle with.”

“So we can get rid of the clothes?”

He kissed Chasten’s forehead. “No, not a chance. This all goes back into the closet. That can be your job.”

“Would you at least start wearing matching socks? I went through your drawers and paired them up to make it easier for you.”

“I can do that.” He looked around his bedroom. “What haven’t you searched through?”

“Worried I’ll discover your shrine to One Direction?”

“The Jonas brothers, actually, and I’d really appreciate your respect for my privacy.”

Chasten smiled. “I’ll put everything back as it was. You go downstairs and relax. But I’m serious about the socks. You can’t come to the secret gay agenda meetings with mismatched socks. The bouncer won't let you in.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to risk that.”

“And if we keep dating, you’re going to have to let me buy you things and then allow me to parade you around in them. There’s an entire world out there that doesn’t know how hot my boyfriend is yet, and if you keep wearing those khakis they never will.”

Pete grinned. It sounded like a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this prompt: _chasten seeing peter’s closet for the first time and throwing half of his baggy as hell pants away and teaching him how to not look like a doofus_


	6. Canvassing

When Your Boyfriend Meets Your Constituents...

House #1

Pete had trouble walking straight all day. He kept staring over at Chasten, which caused him to veer off the sidewalk, winding up on the street or in his constituents’ front flower beds. He didn’t want to get caught destroying rose gardens. That could cost you an election.

“You need to stop staring at me like that,” Chasten said.

“Like what?”

“Like you have googly heart eyes.”

Pete grinned in response. He started up the steep and narrow concrete steps leading up to the door when he misjudged the height and slipped a little. He grabbed onto the railing to stop from toppling onto the pavement. Thank goodness. He was wearing his best, bought-without-using-a-coupon, pants that day.

Chasten chuckled as he helped Pete to his feet. “I did warn you.”

Pete rang the doorbell and an older man with spiked hair came to the door, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. They’d woken him. Off to a great start.

“I don’t buy stuff,” the man said brusquely.

“Vote for Mayor Pete!” Chasten rushed to shout out before the door slammed. “I think we made a new friend.”

Pete frowned and grabbed the clipboard from his boyfriend. “I’ll put him down as a ‘maybe.’”

House #2

“What did I say about the staring?” Chasten rang the bell.

Pete merely shrugged in response.

“If you keep it up, people are going to knoooow,” Chasten said in a conspiratorial whisper.

The man who answered this door was wide awake-- already a better start-- with a welcoming smile and a bounding golden retriever by his side. Chasten audibly cooed and dove for the dog. There went his canvassing buddy. 

“Hi. I’m Mayor Pete Buttigieg, and I’m here today to ask for your vote in my upcoming reelection.”

“You’re the traffic circle guy.”

Roundabouts. He wished people would call them roundabouts. “Yes, well, if you’ve driven downtown in the last few months…”

“The traffic circles make me dizzy.”

“Dizzy?”

“Don’t laugh. Vertigo is a serious medical issue.”

“Yes, but…”

The man shook his head. “I don’t have time for this foolishness.”

“Can we count on your vote for Pete this Tuesday?” Chasten had only now tuned into the conversation because the dog had retreated inside the house in favor of napping on a large inner tube bed in the foyer.

“Of course I’m going to vote for Pete!” The man said, annoyed, before he shut the door on them.

House #3

The occupant of the next home recognized Pete right away and seemed a bit charmed to have the mayor himself at her door stoop. She engaged him in conversation about potential public works projects, and Pete found himself a bit charmed in return. A constituent who cared about waste water management. How lucky could a mayor get?

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chasten checking his watch.

He already had her commitment to vote, and he decided to push for a little more. “If you could come volunteer with the campaign, that would be fantastic. Even if it’s for an afternoon. Every bit helps.”

She smiled. “I’d love to, but my legs aren’t what they used to be. I have a daughter, though, you know.”

Daughter? No way she could angling in _that_ direction. A year ago, sure. But not now, surely.

“She’s about your age. I’m sure she’d love to volunteer. Why don’t I give you her number?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.”

“I insist,” she said, scribbling down the number on the mailer Pete had given her. “She’s a lovely girl, and I’m sure it gets so tiring campaigning alone.”

He glanced over at Chasten, who was biting his lip to avoid laughing and was not being much of any help at all.

“Ma’am, I appreciate the thought, but I am dating someone.”

Her face lit up. “Wonderful! I don’t get the local gossip much anymore. Is it a South Bend girl?”

Pete couldn’t believe he was going to have to come out for what felt like the thousandth time. Did it ever stop? Would there ever be a time people didn’t make assumptions about his personal life he would have to correct? He couldn’t blame this woman, really. Being straight was the default in life, and, from the perspective of her generation, probably the only available option. He just wished the world was different.

“Uh, no, actually. I’m gay. It was in all the papers. And I’m dating him.” He pointed at Chasten who waved.

“I see,” she said. Her face contorted. “I think you could do better.”

It wasn’t clear to him whether she was speaking to him or to Chasten.

House #4

“I’m not staring,” Pete said.

“You are. You keep looking at me like I’m an Adonis. No one has ever looked at me like that before.”

“That’s really their loss then.”

Chasten smirked. “Who knew one night would get me this kind of response?”

_The previous evening, Chasten had been fidgety, as if he were desperate to contain something inside him that was ready to burst forth. Pete took an educated guess and saved him from having to say it first. He knew these things were difficult for Chasten. He didn't fully understand why, but he was learning._

__

__

_“I love you, too.” Pete brushed Chasten’s cheek. They were on his couch, Pete pushed up against the arm, turned to his side with Chasten leaning over him. Pretty bold, he thought, to go with the “too” when he was the first one to say it, but this relationship made him bold like that. He waited for a response, and every fraction of a second was torture._

_“You always know the right thing to say,” Chasten said. “It’s one of the reasons I love you.”_

_Pete kissed him harder than he ever had, and they resumed their previously scheduled makeout session in earnest._

_Chasten pulled back. “Do you want to go upstairs?”_

_He sucked in a breath and tried to calm his heart. They were taking things slow. If he was being honest, he would have sped things up weeks ago. But this was important to Chasten, and Chasten was important to him. He needed to handle this delicately._

_“I don’t want to pressure you.”_

_“You’re not.”_

_“I didn’t want to hope too much.”_

_“You didn’t.”_

So if he had a goofy grin on his face all morning and, as Chasten would put it, “moony heart eyes,” could anyone really blame him?

The fourth homeowner was a Republican who wasn’t interested in voting in the upcoming mayoral election but was interested in complaining about trash removal. Pete nodded along but wasn’t sure he heard a word.

House #35

“Rough crowd today,” Chasten said. “I think we made good progress, though. We got six new voters registered.”

Pete nodded. “There’s a couple more houses to go on our list… but would you want to get lunch first? I know a place near here.”

Chasten smiled. “You always know the right thing to say. Let's try to avoid one of those roundabouts, though. I hear they are making people sick."

 _Roundabouts._ Pete smiled. It really was love.


	7. Bad Day

When Your Boyfriend Has A Bad Day…

Pete texted Chasten at 8:30 in the morning, in the few moment’s lull after his breakfast meeting with a couple of local business owners who were concerned about a proposal to update some street names and before the budget meeting. _How is your day going? Have you broken your kids of their summer joy yet?_

It was the first week of the school year, and, according to Chasten, this year’s crop of students were particularly… spirited. Apparently, they had not quite internalized the end of summer.

He checked his phone at 9:15. No response. Not a big deal. Chasten was probably busy.

9:27. Still no response. The budget meeting was droning on and he redoubled his efforts to pay attention. He refused to be that guy who checked his phone every ten minutes while in the middle of a conference. Despite the fact that he’d just done exactly that.

9:52. Finally out of the meeting. Still no response. He read back over his text. Without his permission, his brain began to parse every word. Was he suggesting Chasten wasn’t a fun teacher? That he was harsh and destroyed kids’ spirits? Had he offended Chasten in some way? This is what he hated about text based communication. It was too easy for him to stare at the receipts of his conversation and beat himself up over every potential misstep. Pete felt stupid, stupid, stupid.

9:56. Chasten replies. _Busy day. Ha._

Pete read it three times and got stuck on the ‘ha.’ What was he referencing? Was it genuine, or sarcastic? Chasten was usually not so stingy with his wordage.

10:05. He texted Chasten. _I have a surprise for you tonight._

10:22. _Ok. Sure._

Pete frowned at his phone. Chasten usually loved surprises. And Pete had so clearly set him up for a dirty joke. Before he could respond, he had some Girl Scouts to swear in.

“Do you have a wife, Mayor Pete?” A Girl Scout asked him. The adults in the room blanched.

Pete didn’t mind getting this kind of question from kids. In his experience, kids didn’t judge. They simply reacted to the world as it was presented to them.

“I don’t have a wife. I like boys instead.”

She considered this for a moment. “Oh. Then why don’t you have a husband?”

It was a question he’d been asking himself lately. He wasn’t ready, or at least that’s what he’d been telling Chasten, but he was increasingly losing a grip on what “not ready” meant.

10:48. _Meet me by the fountain and then we’ll head to dinner?_

11:33. _Home is better._

No, home wouldn’t do. He had plans.

11:34. _I don’t have time to stop at home before our reservations._

He met with a road crew filling in potholes. The diagnosis was that several of the streets on the west side of town would need to be repaved. He checked in with the local INDOT official to confirm that they had the salt stores to get through the upcoming winter. He approved funds for a new playground near Norte Dame. He ate lunch and did push ups in his office.

He checked his phone three dozen times. He was starting to feel like a lovesick teenager.

1:28. _Fine. Whatever you want._

“Whatever you want” was not a good sign. “Whatever you want” tended to pop out of Chasten when he was annoyed and running thin on patience. Pete tried not to take it personally. At least they had ironed out their plans for that night. He pulled a box out of his desk drawer and stuck it in his messenger bag, not wanting to forget it. He hid presents in his office because Chasten was a gift-sniffing bloodhound.

His phone stayed quiet the rest of the afternoon.

5:49. The early evening sun was bouncing off the water. Pete was enjoying the mild weather and the warming breeze, which occasionally wafted a refreshing mist from the fountain in his direction. Fall was on the horizon and he was going to miss this. His phone rattled in his pocket. _Running late._

5:51. _I don’t mind waiting. Take your time._

A couple of minutes later, he spotted Chasten walking along the riverfront. It always amazed him how he could pick Chasten out of a crowd almost instantly. Like a game of _Where’s Waldo?_ but with a much better prize.

When he got to the fountain, Chasten hugged Pete and sunk into his arms.

“I’ve had a day,” he said.

“You’ll feel better with some dinner in you. Before we go, however, I have something I want to give you.” He reached into his bag.

“Ugh. Are you sure you want to eat out? I’m kind of feeling a bit fat, actually.”

“You look incredible. Open the box.”

“The kids took every one of my pencils, and I’m still missing four of them. At the staff meeting today, the vice-principal wanted to know if my idea to make a watered-down version of _Rent_ the fall musical originated from me or ‘the Mayor’s office.’ As if you’d ever care about a school musical.”

“That sounds frustrating. We should talk about it more at dinner. Open the box.”

“And, Cathy, who teaches biology, she said…”

“Chasten.” Pete was a bit more forceful this time. “Open the box.”

“What box?”

Pete nudged it into his hands, and when Chasten saw the watch inside, he dropped down to rest on the edge of the fountain.

“It’s our anniversary. I forgot.”

Pete sat down next to him and wrapped his arm around him. “I figured.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad about forgetting. I could tell you were having a bad day. Do you like it? I didn’t think it was fair that only one of us has a watch.”

“I love it. And you.” Chasten’s eyes got a bit misty. “I was such a dick to you all day, and I didn’t get you a thing, and here you are with this amazing romantic gesture. How do I even deserve you?”

Pete kissed his forehead. “We deserve each other. For all sorts of reasons. The first one being that you make me happy. You’ve brought so much color and vibrance to my life. You’re kind, and funny,” he dropped his voice down, “and so sexy. I want to spend every day with you.”

“Stop before you start proposing marriage. You’re not... are you?”

“No. Does that disappoint you?”

Chasten smiled and shook his head. “I told you to take all the time you need. And in the meanwhile, I’ll be rocking this beautiful new watch. Help me put it on.”

Pete wrapped the silicone belt around Chasten’s wrist and fastened it. He could feel his pulse. He hoped that heart would keep beating next to his for eternity. 

“Time is a fleeting concept, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded. “I’m just saying it might not be too long before its time to replace this watch with something else.”

“A ring-like something, perhaps?

“Maybe.”

Chasten smiled. “Whatever you want.”

7:02. Pete’s phone buzzed in his pocket. To his surprise the text was from Chasten, who sat across from him, looking very innocent. _Being at this restaurant with you tonight is making me feel a way, and I’ve developed a few plans of my own for our anniversary. Can’t say out loud right now for obvious reasons._

7:03. _Tell me more..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this prompt: _How about the night Pete gave Chasten a watch for their anniversary, but Chasten had forgotten about it because he had a shitty day teaching._ Also thank you to the anonymous friend who helped me track down the relevant clip.


	8. Not Dating

When Your Boyfriend Becomes Your Husband…

Pete was five minutes late and Chasten was going to murder him and would probably be aquitted. He had one job. One. Pick up the tuxes from the tailor. Now he was standing outside the shop, decidedly _not_ picking up their tuxes, because he didn’t leave his office in time. The wedding was tomorrow.

He wondered what they would serve at the luncheon after his funeral. Good thing the church was booked.

For months, Chasten had been managing Operation Wedding, using his magic powers to somehow plan an event that was a perfect blend of both of them without much involvement from Pete’s half of the equation. Sure, Pete showed up for the catering tasting and the cake tasting— when there was food to be eaten he could be counted on— but goodness knew how many hours Chasten sat on the phone sorting through potential vendors before getting to that point.

Chasten really was the better boyfriend. Until tomorrow. Then they got a reset, and, if Pete worked hard, he had a shot at becoming the better husband. He was determined to try.

He pulled on the door and the bells jangled. The tailor emerged from the back of his shop and cracked the door open.

“You're late.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Can I just… I don’t want to let him down.”

The tailor smiled and tapped his nose with a wink of conspiracy. “This will have to stay our secret. If word gets out that I stay open for people I like, I’ll never make it home in time for dinner again. And it’s meatloaf night.”

He let Pete inside and handed him two bagged garments. One of them (his) a darker, more subdued blue and the other (Chasten’s) more saturated and bold. They were perfect.

Pete paid for the alterations and carried the special cargo to his car. He couldn’t quite believe this was his life. That he was actually mere hours away from getting married. Two decades ago, when he started to realize how God had created him, he was angry. Bitter. Furious that a cosmic fluke meant he couldn’t have the thing he wanted most in life— love. And here he was shoving two wedding tuxedos into his back seat.

As he drove home, he kept the radio silent. Today was the last of his dating life. His mind replayed through every moment. When Chasten first became his boyfriend. When they were still learning what made each other tick. He was still missing several pairs of his old pants. When they had their first fight, and he realized he could bleed from a wound carved out with words. When he fell in love and could barely contain his giddiness about it. When he knew he had to take the next step. He wouldn’t change a thing.

He pulled into the driveway, seeing Chasten’s car already parked against the house. They had a busy night ahead of them. Maybe Pete would order in some food. After all, he wasn’t under the delivery minimum anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not how I wanted to end this! I promised I would keep going until Pete was out of the race and, well, I thought I had more time.


End file.
